


don't you look away (when i say)

by softtofustew



Category: Day6 (Band)
Genre: Angst, Cute, Day6 - Freeform, DoPil, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, LGBT, Lovers, M/M, Mostly Fluff, firstfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-27 20:16:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14433282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softtofustew/pseuds/softtofustew
Summary: "from now on, i'll always be here for you."the world has been unfair to wonpil for so long, that dowoon must be his saviour.





	don't you look away (when i say)

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! this is a poorly-written first fic that i've been dragging for two months now oops. feel free to give any criticism and feedback ;D

the first time wonpil meets dowoon is at school, him and sungjin strolling along the pathway to school, both dressed properly in their uniforms. the spring breeze rushes all around them, sending the leaves in the deciduous trees rustling lightly, brushing fallen leaves across the pavement.

“then if there are 13 protons in an atom, that would mean…” sungjin’s voice fades in and out of wonpil’s conscience, cramming some last-minute studying before the older boy’s chemistry test, though wonpil knows that his friend will ace it. his eyes wander for a bit, glazing over the scene set in front of him.

what catches his eye is a gaggle of girls in a circle, fussing and squealing. being a little bit shorter, wonpil tries his best to stand on his tiptoes as subtly as possible so as to see who the girls are going gaga about; to no avail, for all wonpil sees is a mess of dark hair in the centre of the girls.

noticing his friend's absence of attention on him, sungjin turns his head to glimpse at the spectacle in front of them. “well. i wonder who that is,” he murmurs, before sticking his head back into his textbook.

getting a little impatient, wonpil steps away from sungjin and walks as casually as he can towards the group of girls still babbling away. at that moment, a deep voice shouts, “sorry, girls, gotta talk to my friend about something!”

with that said, as if the words were an order, the girls disperse, giggling as they head their separate ways, revealing the boy with the mess of dark hair, and wonpil has to restrain himself from gasping.

the boy, his eyes half-shut, earphones in, hands tucked into his hoodie, gives a lopsided grin at wonpil. for some reason or another, wonpil can literally feel his heart suddenly bouncing up and down, from chest to stomach and back up again, as the stranger walks towards him.

“hey. sorry about that. thanks,” he chuckles, before looping an arm around wonpil’s right shoulder. startled, wonpil sucks in a sharp breath. noticing his tensed shoulders, the boy drops his arm.

“sorry. i'm new here. didn't expect to be bombarded by them.” at ‘them', the boy pokes his chin out in the direction of the girls traipsing away.

wonpil shakes his head. “n-no worries,” he stutters. why is he stuttering? in a blink of an eye his tongue has been filled full with sand, and his feet feel numb underneath him. “i'm glad i helped. i'm wonpil. class 10B.”

“really? nice,” the boy remarks, his grin widening. “i'm yoon dowoon. same class. mind if you walk me there?”

“i don't mind,” the other boy replies, the shyness in his voice so evident that even sungjin, walking close by them, glances up and raises an eyebrow at them.

but the two boys walk on, neither aware of the friendship blossoming between them.

+

as the school bell rings, resounding throughout the whole school, wonpil takes up his things, stuffing them into his bag, not once noticing his friend creeping up to him.

“wonpil-ssi,” sungjin calls. wonpil jumps in shock, turning to face his good friend staring at him.

regaining his composure, wonpil clears his throat before asking, “yes, hyung?”

“who's the new kid?” sungjin questions, curious to find out who it is wonpil’s been next to the whole day.

at those words, the boy can't help but blush a deep red. “yoon dowoon. he moved here just last week.”

“ah.” satisfied with his answer, the older boy bids goodbye to his friend, before turning and exiting the classroom. wonpil lets out a shudders breath he hasn't realised that he was holding in, before continuing to collect his things.

“wonpillie,” a familiar voice calls. as if he wasn't red enough, wonpil can actually feel another rush of blood soaking his cheeks. swiveling around, his face almost crashes into dowoon’s.

plastering on a smile as confident as he can make it, wonpil greets him. “hi dowoon.”

a lollipop stick has found itself between dowoon’s lips, and for some absurd reason, wonpil feels compelled to stare at those plump, pink lips for a bit. “wonpil-ah, where do you go after school?” he asks around the lollipop stick, before plonking himself onto the edge of a desk.

the answer gets caught in his throat. if dowoon knows, just knows, it might just be the end of their friendship already. another nickname branded across his forehead. another boy who will judge him for his taste, stick his tongue out, and get lost in a sea of people. again.

it happens way too often for a boy like wonpil.

but something about dowoon’s expectant face and small smile forces the words to tumble from his lips: “to the music room.”

wait for it, wait for it…

to wonpil’s surprise, and possibly, relief, dowoon takes the lollipop out from his mouth. strawberry. “this school has a music room? nice. sorry to, like, bother you, but can i tag along?” his dark eyes are lit up in a bright, maybe amusing manner, that somehow warms wonpil’s heart.

the older boy can feel the pulse of his heart pounding to a non-existent beat in his head as he nods, lifting his bag. “come on.”

the two friends exit the room, strolling down several long corridors. along the way, after-school crowds stop and stare at dowoon, the careless, laidback boy with tousled hair and a strawberry lollipop in his mouth; the boy hanging out with somewhat an outcast of the school, i.e. kim wonpil.

girls gasp and guys gape. why would the new cutie, the boy whose haze of confidence attracts all around him, want to have anything to do with the music geek of the year? as they pass by onlookers, wonpil feels himself shrink smaller and smaller beside dowoon at the sound of murmurs ringing through the throng of students.

at last, they reached the wooden door, with the silver label which read “music room”. quickly, wonpil shoves the door open, ushering dowoon in, before turning and shutting the door behind them. glad to finally escape from the other students, wonpil lets out a sigh and turns to dowoon.

“this is it, i guess,” wonpil states matter-of-factly, waving a hand dismissively at the instruments laden before them. with a tight budget, there really isn’t much to the room: a piano, a drum set, some guitars, several wind and string instruments, one or two brass instruments…

however, wonpil has to hide his surprise when dowoon begins to wander around the room, and notices the exact moment the other boy’s hand brushes against the gleaming drums.

attempting to start some small talk, wonpil shifts his weight, asking, “so… do you play any instruments?”

as if knocked out from a daze, dowoon’s ears turn a bashful red. wonpil watches as the colour fills the tips of his ears. cute. “uh, well, yeah. i play the drums,” he answers almost sheepishly, his eyes turned downcast.

“really?” wonpil’s heart swells. someone who plays an instrument! “that’s really cool, compared to what i play,” he comments, no control over whatever he’s babbling away.

dowoon lifts an eyebrow. “what do you play?”

“t-the piano,” wonpil answers, suddenly shy.

the second dowoon smiles genuinely at him, wonpil knows he’s been smitten for life. “can you maybe play for me?”

+

instead of hours dragging on for forever on weekdays, all of a sudden, school days seem too short, for almost every day dowoon and wonpil are found together, either chatting away or ducking into the music room during breaks and lunches. it’s not that sungjin isn’t a good friend, but someone who connects with him so quickly, so perfectly, is someone too good not to hang out with as much as possible.

here and there, however, are times when wonpil doesn’t realise he’s staring until his friend turns and asks him something (“wonpil? wonpil? hello?”). you can’t blame him, though. dowoon is pretty, not distinguishably handsome, but pretty, in such a way that you can’t look away until you’ve had a good fix of him.

the way his hair is somehow always messy in the most adorable way possible, the way his voice is so deep and thick with the busan accent, the way his smiles and laughter should be a song of their own, the way his arms are lean and sculpted when he wears them sleeveless during pe lessons, the way he carries himself with a mix of confidence and humbleness.

without even giving a thought about it, wonpil’s falling, falling, falling into an endless pit.

sungjin is the first to point out wonpil’s massive crush on his newfound friend, on the one day dowoon is absent, away for a dentist appointment. “wonpil-ssi, i need to ask you something personal.”

taking a bite out of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, wonpil glances up. “mmhm?”

with as much seriousness as the older boy can muster, sungjin asks, “do you like, like, dowoon-ssi?”

“like-like?”

“yeah,” sungjin nods. “romantically. i mean, i’m not saying it’s wrong, i just wanted to ask, because sometimes i see the way you look at him.”

the younger boy can hear his heartbeat beginning to race. “l-like how?”

“like he’s the only boy worth looking at for life.”

no matter how cheesily deep those words sound out loud, for some reason, wonpil finds himself hearing the words over and over again in his head as he lies down on his bed later that day. like he’s the only boy worth looking at for life…

the shrill piercing of his ringtone shatters the moment, and wonpil turns onto his side, fumbling for the phone on his bedside table. upon reading the contact name - ‘dowoonie’, because dowoon, as quoted, said, “i call you wonpillie, so it’s only fair!” - he immediately sits up, clears his throat and clicks ‘answer’.

“wonpil-ah,” dowoon’s deep voice calls through the line, sending a shiver down the other boy’s spine. “are you busy?”

busy thinking about whether you’re the only boy worth looking at my life? certainly. “um… no?” wonpil replies a little hesitantly, wondering what his friend is up to this time. “oh, yeah, dowoon, you just had your dentist appointment, right?”

“mmhm,” dowoon answers lazily. “do you mind coming over? it’s friday and i’m bored. video games?”

“y-yeah, sure.” as the words are processed in his mind, wonpil almost shakes in excitement. they’ve been good friends for two months already, sure, and dowoon came over to wonpil’s house for a geography assignment once, but going to dowoon’s house is a new experience, and as their call bubbles down (“see you?” “4pm?” “okay, sure thing.”), wonpil stuffs his face into his pillow to muffle his squeals.

+

two hours later, wonpil finds himself sat rather close to dowoon on the floor of his messy bedroom, both boys holding their game consoles tightly. when he first stepped into his room, wonpil’s first thought was, “he looks really good in ripped jeans.” and even now, both sat cross-legged in a heated game of halo, wonpil has to suppress the urge to touch the skin shown in the rips.

maybe dowoon actually wore those ripped jeans to distract his friend, because wonpil keeps dying and having to revive, because all wonpil can stare at is how gorgeous dowoon looks; the white shirt really hugs his body cutely, showing off this body wonpil would love to snuggle against.

_look straight, think straight._

he can’t.

by the sixth time wonpil dies, dowoon guffaws. “you’re really bad at this, wonpillie,” he taunts, doing over-exaggerated arm movements as he controls his game console, almost elbowing wonpil in the face in the process.

“yeah, i guess,” his friend mutters under his breath, almost not even taking one glimpse at the screen anymore, thus dying the moment his avatar is revived.

finally, the game ends, and dowoon sighs overdramatically as he flings the game console across the room, landing perfectly on his bedspread. “i’m tired, wonpil,” he murmurs, before, out of the blue, sliding against his friend, leaning his head onto wonpil’s shoulder.

the older boy cannot believe it. warmth fills his cheeks, and he chuckles nervously as dowoon slings both arms around wonpil’s body, all the while trying to lower his racing heartbeat. before he can say a word, though, dowoon lifts his head and faces wonpil, their lips apart only by about, say, several inches.

hot breath fans wonpil’s face, and he almost melts as dowoon whispers, “you’re really cute, wonpil-ah.” letters are suddenly symbols wonpil can’t make out, for he can’t form any words, only stuttering out an “a-ah.”

dowoon giggles, before closing what little space between them, placing his lips gingerly against wonpil’s. in that space of time, wonpil lets out a sharp gasp, basking in the feeling of dowoon’s pretty lips against his own chapped ones.

the hands wrapped around wonpil wander upwards, slinking around his shoulders as they continue kissing, never once parting. mustering up what little confidence he has, wonpil experimentally presses his tongue against dowoon’s lips, and the groan the other boy elicits sends a jolt to wonpil’s southern region.

“f-fuck,” dowoon sighs, before kissing him again, a little harsher, carefully lowering the boy onto the carpet. wonpil lets dowoon, now sat above him, kiss him, both boys relishing in this moment,

just two boys kissing.

+

the weekend drags on painfully, what with the sudden step up from ‘we’re just friends’ to ‘i think we’re friends- oh, you just kissed me’. after the kiss, wonpil’s phone had rung, his mum calling for him to run home for dinner, leading to no explanation as to why dowoon had even placed his lips upon wonpil’s in the first place.

now, saturday, wonpil lays on his bed once again, his cell phone in his hands. his mind is itching for an answer: does dowoon like him? or did he just kiss wonpil because he looked cute? maybe he was drunk? he definitely wasn’t drunk, wonpil thinks, remembering only the taste of salt from the chips they ate before, the sweet from his lemonade, and something else completely foreign to the poor boy.

sighing, wonpil turns his attention back to his phone.

wonpillie: hey dowoon, about yesterday…

he sent that message four hours ago, and has been eagerly waiting for some sort of response for quite some time…

something flickers on his screen, and wonpil focuses on the words just below his sent message.

read 14:09

the boy swears he can’t hear a thing.

his toes curl, his breaths a little heavier, as he anticipates for maybe the best, or worst, ever reply he could ever receive.

dowoon doesn’t reply.

+

not even on sunday.

+

not even on monday, and wonpil has to hide his frustration in his awful pink sweater, staring straight down at the marble floor. apparently, he can’t act for shit, because even oblivious sungjin glances up from his textbook to see wonpil pouting at no one in particular.

“what’s wrong?” sungjin quizzes, startling wonpil.

his friend shakes his head. “nothing, hyung,” he mutters irately, before storming off in search for the nearest bathroom, his tears almost close to leaking.

his first kiss. his first ever kiss, stolen by the boy who has been the star of his dreams for two whole months, and now, wonpil may sound dramatic, but does dowoon even know the importance of this?

or is this all a kiss-and-go scheme to him?

letting out a heavy sigh, wonpil tugs open the bathroom door, only to reveal a boy with disheveled hair leaning against the tiled bathroom wall, head in his arms, knees drawn up, sobbing horrendously.

perplexed, wonpil nears the boy cautiously, only to recognise the colour of the boy’s duffel bag. “dowoon? what’s wrong?” wonpil asks urgently, kneeling down in front his friend, his friend whose arms are wrapped tightly around his knees, his friend whose usual confident demeanour is now the curl of the body against the cold toilet wall.

the older boy swears he can hear his heart shatter just that little bit as dowoon raises his head, his eyes red and full of tears. a tear rolls down miserably, drawing a trail down his cheek and dripping off at his chin, plopping onto his jeans. lips chapped, dowoon can only let out a shaky breath before throwing his arms around wonpil and hugging him tight.

“w-wonpillie, it h-hurts so much,” he whispers, trembling against the other boy.

as the shock and euphoria of the sudden embrace ebb away bit by bit, wonpil can only hug dowoon back, his arms around his teenage love, his eyes closed a little. as dowoon shakes, sobbing relentlessly, wonpil’s thoughts can only flash back to the song lyrics he’d scribbled down just last week, the words involuntarily pushing up his throat and past his lips:

“baby, it’s okay. it’s okay, from now on, i’ll always be here for you. it’s okay. it’s okay.”

+

_clatter clang._

the sound of the canned drink dropping in the drinks dispenser pierces through the silence of the cafeteria as wonpil reaches down to retrieve the bought drink. behind him, dowoon is seated at a long table, his head buried in his crossed arms. having recovered and stopped shedding tears, wonpil had taken his friend by the hand and led him to the cafeteria in search of peace and quiet. classes have begun, wonpil’s probably going to get his ass lectured away, but what the hell.

with the drink in hand, wonpil turns and seats himself down opposite the younger boy. “here,” he says, his hand outstretched towards the other boy.

biting his lip, dowoon takes the hot can, uttering a soft “thank you.”

“no problem,” wonpil replies, before awkwardly wringing his hands together in his lap. where does he go from here? “do you… do you want to talk about it?”

as dowoon cracks the can open with an inevitable pop, wonpil reads the discomfort on his friend’s face. “i mean, you don’t have to-”

“-it’s alright,” dowoon interrupts, his voice low and raspy from crying. even then, wonpil’s heart races. stop it. “my… my parents are divorcing. again.”

wonpil tries processing the words. fails to comprehend.

“i mean,” dowoon clears his throat, “my dad’s remarried three times already. that’s why i moved here. because he married my mum. but now that they’re getting divorced, my dad will take me somewhere else. to settle down. again.”

finally understanding the toll the situation is taking, wonpil slumps down in his seat. the thought of dowoon, the boy who’s been the protagonist of his life for a while now, the boy who he’s been holding a fiery torch for weeks now, the boy who calls him cute and kissed him just a few days ago; the thought of him leaving is impossible to imagine.

but with the words slowly materialising, it’s not as impossible to happen anymore.

wonpil wants to scream at the world for being so fucking unfair, not only to him, but to dowoon too, the boy who he now knows has been suffering for so long, has been enduring so much pain for so long, has been keeping it from him for so long; everything is so cruel to the both of them.

however, wonpil takes note of dowoon’s eyes cast downwards, his lip bite, his ears as red as crimsom. he can’t be selfish. he can’t be weak now, when dowoon is hurting.

he needs to stay strong. needs to comfort dowoon.

“dowoonie. look at me.”

wonpil receives a soft, “i look ugly, so no.”

“but you look beautiful.”  
he watches on as dowoon’s eyes flicker from wonpil for a second or two, before glancing back down at the can of coffee in his hands. “i don’t.”

“dowoon-ah. don’t you look away when i say you’re beautiful.”

realisation dawning upon dowoon, the boy looks up, his eyes focussed on the expression across wonpil’s face. gradually, a grin spreads across dowoon’s face, eyes lighting up. “did you just… did you just use your own song lyrics?”

the other boy can hardly suppress his giggles as he shoots back, “hey, they made you smile!” dowoon shakes his head, the smile still plastered on his face, his cheeks a hot red.

the two burst into fits of giggles, and whilst the future is uncertainly wobbly for the both of them, wonpil can only guess that they relish in the now together.

+

time has flown by.

seven months later, wonpil is sat eagerly at his bedside window, his eyes fixated on the view outside. whilst his heart still stings at the memory of dowoon packing up and leaving for the countryside with his divorced dad, his heart still constantly beats for his friend, the one who he has been texting and calling for seven months now.

and now, at last, dowoon is visiting him.

fidgeting in his seat, wonpil glimpses at his fingers for a bit. so much has occurred during these past seven months, and it’s been killing wonpil to restrain from disclosing everything to dowoon. he wants to surprise him. make dowoon proud of him, face-to-face.

wonpil adjusts his tee again; runs a hand through his hair. he’s gotten a new haircut too, not the awful style that he’s been mocked at for all his life. that day when he’d stepped into school with a brand new look, the taunts aimed towards him had lessened, along with the fact that he’d been-

_beep beep_

startled from his daze, wonpil clambers for the window, shoving it open to reveal a pick-up truck in his driveway. the passenger door opens with a resounding creak, and there a boy, with disheveled raven black hair and ripped jeans, jumps out, hands fiddling with his jacket.

it’s been so long.

as quickly as he can, wonpil scurries out his bedroom, stomps down the stairs with great vigour and rushes out the front door, almost positively bowling over a rather flustered dowoon. “dowoon-ah!” wonpil’s screeches are muffled as the two embrace each other tightly, their bodies aligned perfectly against each other.

their hearts beat heavily, steadily, against each other.

a moment passes before they release from their embrace. dowoon gives wonpil a once-over, his eyes scanning wonpil top to bottom, then toes back to the tip of his head; wonpil turns a sheepish red. “you look different, wonpil. good different.”

“y-yeah,” wonpil chuckles, his nerves absolutely everywhere. “yeah, the haircut…”

dowoon grins, his lips turned upwards, his eyes radiating. “anything interesting here in town? I haven’t called you in a week or two.”

shit, it’s now or never. “uh, yeah, about that…”

“let me guess,” dowoon interrupts, his hands on his hips. “you got scouted.”

what? “h-how did you-?”

“-sungjin told me. i’m proud of you, wonpillie,” dowoon finishes, before pulling his friend into a hug again. “i’m so so proud of you. literally, this is your life now.”

close to tears, wonpil hiccups before burying his head in the crook of dowoon’s shoulder. he smells of light sweat, morning dew and possibly, home. “thank you,” he whispers, his breath warm against dowoon’s skin. raising his head a little, wonpil musters what little courage he has before placing his lips against dowoon’s, as if their last kiss had just been yesterday.

as they kiss, wonpil hopes that dowoon can hear the words he has been aching to tell him for so long now,

_let me be your love. please._

little does wonpil know that dowoon can almost hear the words resounding in his head:

_i want to protect this warm love. please._

**Author's Note:**

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